Classic Poem

9. Sea-Sickness.
The afternoon clouds, all darkly,
Sink deeper over the Sea:
And the Sea rises darkly against them;
While the ship races through in their midst.
Seasick, there I sat by the mast all alone,
And many reflections I made on myself,
Primitive, ash-grey reflections —
Resembling in this Father Lot's,
Who, after enjoyment of too much good cheer,
Found himself truly in evil case.
Meanwhile I muse upon far-away legends:
How pilgrim Crusaders of old time,
On a stormy sea voyage, the comforting image
Would kiss, with faith in the holy Madonna:
How knights to get comfort, when tossed on the ocean,
The glove of their mistress, so dear to their heart,
Would press to their lips, and straight be consoled.
While I'm sitting here, and am sulkily chewing
An ancient herring, that salt consolation
For a man with hot coppers or down with the horrors.
All the time, the ship is battling
With the wildly-swelling flood;
Like prancing war-horse, rearing now
On her stern till the rudder cracks,
Then plunging her bows down again
In the howling watery gulf;
Then again, as if happy and languid with bliss,
She strives to lay herself down
On the dark bosom of some giant wave,
That comes mightily roaring onward.
And suddenly rushes upon us,
A wild sea-cataract, seething and simmering,
That has covered me over with foam.
This tottering, and whirling, and tossing,
I cannot endure it!
In vain my eye strains eagerly, seeking
The German coast. All alas! is yet water,
And water again — tempestuous water!
As the winter-traveller at evening longs
For a comforting hot cup of tea,
So now is longing my heart after thee,
My German fatherland!
For evermore be thy sweet soil covered
With madness, hussars, and bad verses,
And tepid, dull little pamphlets!
For evermore may thy zebras
Gorge upon roses, instead of on thistles!
For evermore may thy high-born monkeys
Flaunt and preen themselves in leisured splendour,
And think themselves better than all of the other
Commoner cattle so tardy of movement!
Evermore may thy Snails' Assembly
Hold themselves as immortal,
Because their pace is so tardy —
And every day may they put to the vote
" Whether the cheese belongs or not to the maggots, "
And spend a long time in consulting
" How to improve the sheep-breed of Egypt, "
That so their wool may grow better,
And the shepherd be able to shear them like others,
Without any difference —
Evermore may injustice and folly
Cover thee wholly, O Germany! —
Yet in spite of all do I long for thee,
For at least thou art terra firma .